


We're Going Home

by CarpeVesper



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Brief body horror, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Important discussions about feelings, M/M, Mentions of Carl, Pacifist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Simon Backstory, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-06-19 22:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15520404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeVesper/pseuds/CarpeVesper
Summary: Markus rescues Simon from the evidence locker and has to deal with the guilt that comes with shooting a friend point-blank.Simon acting like nothing happened isn't helping.





	1. After the Battle

**Author's Note:**

> The premise here is that Markus shot Simon at the Stratford Tower but ultimately led a peaceful revolution. Since then, he's felt immensely guilty about it, and now he has to deal with getting Simon back and reconciling with him.
> 
> Enjoy!

Markus presses his forehead against the barricade wall and takes a deep, long breath. It’s the first proper one he’s taken in an hour. He can’t count the breaths he had taken while he had sung; he wasn’t aware of them. He didn’t even realize he was singing until the first stanza had escaped his lips. 

It had been a brutal, painful night. But now, the fight was over. Now, they had won. Of course, this is only the beginning of what will be a long, confusing process. Rome was not built in a day, and androids cannot be freed overnight. Tonight, however, marked the first true stepping stone to liberation, the first steps toward a new world. Markus feels proud. And exhausted.

A hand grips Markus’s shoulder. Instinct and reflex kick in. Markus grabs the hand and twists around its owner, switching their positions so that he pins the mystery person to the barricade wall. It’s only then that Markus recognizes the familiar, freckled face.

“Oh god, Connor,” Markus says, releasing him at once. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“No worries, Markus,” Connor replies, smooth and calm as if Markus hadn’t just shoved him into a wall. He adjusts himself, pulling on the knot of his tie and tugging at his cuffs. “My apologies for not announcing myself, I understand you’re under high amounts of stress right now.”

Markus sighs. “That would be an understatement.”

Connor doesn’t quite smile, but his eyelids crinkle. “I have some important information for you.”

“Shoot,” Markus says. He’s pretty sure his emotions have plateaued. There’s probably nothing else that Connor can tell him that would really impact his emotional state.

“It’s about your friend. Simon, I believe his name was?”

The exhaustion drains from Markus’s body, replaced by a cold, liquid fear. It starts at his chest and seeps into the rest of his body. Simon was dead. He was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Yes, yes. What about him?” Markus says, trying to act as unruffled as possible. The night is not yet over. His people still need him, and he can’t slip now.

“Due to tonight's…events, there is a high likelihood that the DPD Central Station is low on staff. Low enough that you might be able to…”

Connor cocks his head to the side in a very human motion.

“…sneak in and retrieve him.” 

“R-retrieve?” Markus says, losing any element of nonchalance.

Simon was dead. It had been around three and a half days since his death, but it felt like longer to Markus. In every quiet moment, every second he did not keep his brain busy, Markus saw him, his face, the blue liquid dripping from his lips. He saw his desperate eyes begging him not to pull the trigger.

But he had.

And it was haunting him.

But now, here Connor stood in front of him, talking about Simon as if he were very much alive. 

“Yes. Retrieve.” Connor furrows his eyebrows and blinks. “Oh, I suppose you don’t know.”

 _Know what?_ Markus’s thoughts scream.

“After your transmission from the Stratford Tower, Lieutenant Anderson and I investigated the broadcast room you had broken into.”

Snippets from the Stratford Tower flash in Markus’s memory, falling one by one like dominoes. The cold hiss of wind against his face. His shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor. North’s voice in his ear. Josh’s eyes glowing. Simon crumpling to the floor.

A gunshot.

“And?” Markus asks.

“We discovered a wounded PL600 on the roof and brought it back to the DPD Central Station as evidence.”

“Evidence,” Markus says. He knew they would have found Simon, that they would have taken him, that it was just an inevitability, but it hurt so much more hearing someone else say it.

Connor extends his hand. His artificial skin melts away, revealing smooth, cold plastic. He cocks his head to the side again and raises his eyebrows. A question. An offer.

Markus takes ahold of his hand. Brief glimpses of where he needs to go and what he must do flicker across his mind. He gets a sense of Connor’s emotions as well, a brief glimpse into his consciousness, snippets of memories. A stern looking woman, scowling at him. Fear. The soft fur of a dog beneath his fingers. Happiness. Rough hands on his shoulders and a grizzled man’s smile. Something indescribable. Then, Connor removes his hand, and the connection vanishes.

“Thank you, Connor,” Markus says. 

“Don’t get caught,” Connor warns.


	2. The Evidence Locker

Markus’s hands hover over the control panel. He knows the password, there’s no way he can forget it. Not with Connor’s memories stamped onto his brain like burn-in on an old television. It’s not getting in that’s the issue.

It’s the fact that he’s about to see Simon again. Simon, who was the first to greet him at Jericho. Simon, the voice of reason. Simon, ever-practical and logical.

Simon, his friend.

Simon, who he shot.

Markus is never going to be able to apologize enough for this.

Swallowing his emotions, Markus enters the password. The door to the evidence locker slides up, and a large panel slides forward. A blonde android on the top left instantly catches his eye.

He’s worse than Markus remembers. Blue blood stains his body, splattered across it like pen ink. It stems from a gaping wound in his head, a bloody mess of exposed plastic and blue gore. Three of his limbs are just gone. Markus hadn’t done that. What did they do to him? What did they do?

Wait a minute. Markus looks more closely. He doesn’t see the WM400 uniform that Simon had been wearing when he died. Instead, he sees the standard PL600 polo shirt. The body he is looking at is not Simon’s. It’s just another PL600. The same face, but not the same person. Markus shivers. Something didn’t feel right, something felt cold and awful in his gut, at having seen Simon’s face torn to shreds like that. Biting the inside of his cheek, he wonders what this PL600 did to receive such a fate.

Markus scans the rest of the locker. He sees a jacket. And a book. And a strange statuette. And a gun. And a knife. And a recording of himself. And….

Oh god.

Simon. 

He’s there. He’s there, hooked up on the wall like a piece of meat in a slaughterhouse. Just another piece of evidence. It’s somehow more disturbing seeing him pinned there with his whole body, as opposed to the limbless torso of the other PL600.

Markus walks to where Simon is hanging, acutely aware of the clicking sound his shoes make on the polished floor.

His eyes are open. Their irises are blue, but not the pleasant, grayish blue they were when Simon was alive. Now, they are an unnatural, glowing blue, a color that takes over his pupils and makes them nearly invisible. The whites of his eyes are no longer white either and are now a muddy, green-black color. Markus doubts that he can see. There’s no bullet wound in his head, through Markus distinctly remembers where he had shot him. Perhaps the DPD repaired it. That explanation doesn’t make any sense, Markus realizes, but it is the only reasonable one.

The thirium pump regulator is still in his chest, twisted just enough so that it’s not in entirely. Markus can feel Connor’s memory of pulling the regulator out of Simon’s chest ghost across the back of his mind like invisible fingertips. On one hand, he’s glad that Connor has now seemed to find his humanity. On the other, he might have to punch him the next time he sees him, for what he did to Simon.

Markus looks into his blank eyes and twists the regulator back into place. His entire body jolts and shudders, like he’s touched a live wire. Then, he stills. After ten seconds of silence, his eyelids flutter.

“…It’s dark,” Simon says, and the robotic inflection of his voice makes Markus’s heart break. 

“Where am I?” he says. His voice is quiet, and he sounds scared, just so damn _scared_. “Who’s there? Who are you?”

“Everything is alright. Don’t worry,” Markus says, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible in the hopes that it will calm Simon as well. He doesn’t know how well it’s working, considering the fear he feels bubbling up in his chest.

“Markus? Is that you?” Simon says, voice desperate and strained.

“Yes Simon, it’s me. Don’t worry. I came to take you home. We’ve gotta leave now.”

“Y-yes,” Simon says, sounding hopeful for just a moment.

Markus sighs in relief. Inspecting Simon’s body, he tries to figure out the best way to get him down and off the wall. He reaches out, and his fingertips are a mere inch away from Simon when Simon suddenly spasms.

“W-wait!” he spits out, and fear once again seizes Markus’s heart.

“What, what is it?”

“You’re not Markus. You-you’re that android. The detective! The one that tricked me!”

A cold, fearful feeling curls in Markus’s gut. He had seen what Connor had done, heard his own voice coming from Connor’s mouth. It was a strange feeling, but he can only imagine how Simon must have felt, yanked from death’s indifferent hands by a friend’s voice, just to be once again plunged into a cold void.

“Simon, it’s me. It’s Markus. The real Markus.” He does his best to keep the fear out of his voice because he could only imagine what would happen if Simon hears him sound afraid.

“NO!” Simon cries, his voice rising to a strangled, tinny pitch, crackling with audio artifacts. He thrashes against the wall, the clamp digging dangerously into his already broken body. “YOU’RE NOT HIM! YOU’RE NOT HIM!”

Markus panics. If Simon continues struggling much longer, he’ll either rip himself out of the wall or self-destruct from stress.

_Shit, shit, what do I do, shit._

Markus, running on more instinct than logic, presses his hand to Simon’s cheek, his skin fading away to reveal the smooth white plastic of his endoskeleton. Scrunching his eyes shut, he thinks happy thoughts, thoughts of Jericho, thoughts of him and Carl, thoughts of anything that would convince Simon that yes, he is Markus.

Simon stops thrashing, stops moving entirely. For a moment, Markus fears he’s self-destructed. Then, his eyes close, and he turns his head to press his cheek further into Markus’s palm.

“Markus,” he says, and his voice is so soft and croaky and relieved that Markus bites back a sob. Blue-tinged tears stream down Simon’s cheeks, cutting through the dirt and blending with the blue smudge on his lips.

“It’s okay, Simon. You’re okay.”

“Markus, I want to go home,” Simon says.

“We’re going home. We’re going home. We just need to get you down and then we’re going home,” Markus says. He removes his hand from Simon’s face. Simon makes a pained sound and dips his head to the side, trying to reestablish contact with Markus’s hand. 

“Get me down? What are you talking about? Where’d you go?” He bobs his head again, a concerned expression on his face.

“I’m right here Simon, don’t worry. Just give me one second.”

Markus goes to the control panel at the center of the room. He presses buttons on the screen until he manages to find the information for the clamp attached to Simon.

_CLAMP #6_

_ITEM DESCRIPTION: Android PL600 121 522 521_

_OBTAINED: 8-NOV-2038_

_RELEASE CLAMP? Y/N_

Markus slams his finger against the ‘Y’ button.

There's a pneumatic sound. Markus hurries back over to Simon, managing to grab him seconds before the clamp gives way. With a little adjustment, he hefts Simon over his shoulder like a sack of flour. His hands clamp securely around the back of Simon’s knees and Simon’s chest on his back. He feels Simon’s fingers, wedged between both their bodies, tapping against his coat.

“What are you doing back there?” he asks, not being able to help chuckling despite the somber situation.

“Making sure it’s still you,” Simon says.

Markus holds him tighter. He doesn’t let go, doesn’t loosen his grip once. Not as he leaves the precinct. Not as he walks through the abandoned streets. All the way back to Jericho, he holds on as tight as he can.


	3. The Way Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kudos and comments!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

Halfway through the journey back to Jericho, Simon starts to wheeze. It begins as a quiet sound, nothing that couldn’t be mistaken for regular breathing. But soon, it increases in volume and severity, until Simon sounds like he’s trying to breathe around gravel. His hands clench and unclench in Markus’s jacket.

“Simon?” Markus asks over his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m…fine..” Simon says, a frightening rattling sound separating the two words. He doesn’t _sound_ fine.

“I’m going to put you down for a second,” Markus says, adjusting his position and putting Simon down on a nearby curb.

“Markus…” Simon protests, “please don-”

A sharp hiss of air cuts off his sentence. His eyes go wide.

Markus panics. A quick scan of Simon reveals that both of his lung biocomponents are malfunctioning. With panicked, shaking hands, Markus scrabbles at the zipper of Simon’s jacket, trying to pull it open so that he can access Simon’s chest and fix the broken parts. Logic should have dictated that Markus didn’t have the means or presence of mind to perform what was, in essence, emergency surgery in the middle of a Detroit street, but Markus had lost all his sense the moment Simon’s eyes went wide.

Simon tries to speak, to say something to Markus. All that comes out is a raspy, gasping sound. Making a pained expression, he instead shakes his head and tries to push Markus’s hands off him.

“Simon, don’t worry, it’ll just take a second, it’s fine, you’re _fine_.”

Markus keeps fumbling with the zipper. A light, wet snowfall and his own unsteady hands have made the damn thing near impossible to open. Shit, _shit._ He has to fix Simon, he can’t leave him again, he can’t lose him again, he has to, he _has_ to.

Simon grips Markus’s face with both of his hands. The skin melts away from his hand, from the sides of Markus’s head, and plastic meets with plastic and suddenly their minds connect.

_Markus._ His voice echoes in Markus’s skull.

Markus looks up, into Simon’s still blank eyes, and is almost overwhelmed. Simon’s mind is like a glacier. Not that it’s cold, it’s _steady_. Calm. Unwavering. Powerful.

_Markus, don’t do this._

_Simon, you’re hurt. I need to fix you._ If Simon’s mind is like a glacier, Markus’s is like a wildfire. Burning, passionate, quick, a wild conflagration just barely held under control.

_It’s a noncritical biocomponent. I can hold on a little while longer, I don’t need to breath. Don’t do this in the middle of some street. It’s not safe. For you or me._

_But-_

_Markus. Please._

Markus relents. He releases Simon’s jacket. Simon smiles, soft and gentle, and reaches out, trying to find Markus’s shoulders once again. With little effort, Markus picks Simon back up. They resume the trudge to Jericho, the streetlamps flickering around them, snowflakes falling at Markus’s feet, and the faint wails of sirens in the distance.

“We’ll be back home soon, I promise,” Markus says. “We’ll be back home and then we can fix you.”

Simon angles his arm so that he can just brush his hand against the back of Markus’s neck. It’s a brief moment of contact, but he doesn’t have to say much. _I trust you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Josh and North should be in the next chapter. I wonder how they’ll react to seeing Simon again?


	4. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the kudos and comments!
> 
> This is a slightly longer chapter, hope you enjoy.

_Jericho_ , the freighter, may have been underneath fifty feet of water, but it was never about the vessel itself. The boat was nothing. Just an old, rusted chunk of metal. Jericho was an idea. It was a people, a safe haven, a beacon of freedom in a world of slavery. With the ship gone, Markus had decided to dub the abandoned church his people had taken refuge in the new ‘Jericho.’ North and Josh had agreed in earnest.

As the steeple of the church rises out of the November gloom and into Markus’s field of vision, he assesses the situation. Simon’s still not breathing. The occasional tapping of his fingers against Markus’s back are the only indicators to Markus that he’s still alive. And, unless some miracle occured since Markus last checked, Simon’s still blind too.

Simon needs help. He needs help, and Markus has no idea what to do.

Markus squeezes his eyes shut. He reaches out with his mind, trying to find North and Josh and send them a message. They may not even be back yet. The demonstration ended only a few hours ago. For their sake and Jericho’s sake, Markus hopes they’re okay. For his sake and Simon’s sake, he hopes they’re back.

_North. Josh. If you’re here, come to the entrance, stat. I need help._

There’s a few, frightening seconds of radio silence. Nothing but the sound of the wind howling around them. Nothing but the sound of Markus’s feet crunching in the snow. Then, a familiar, gentle voice speaks inside Markus’s head.

 _I’m here,_ Josh says, _but North isn’t. Is something wrong? What do you need?_

 _Everything’s fine,_ Markus says, as if saying it will make it so. _Just please get to the entrance. I’ll be there in less than two minutes._

_On it._

Josh’s voice leaves Markus’s mind. Markus tries to ignore all other thoughts and only focus on getting himself and Simon to the front door. One step at a time. Left foot. Right foot. Left. Right. Left. Right. 

Markus finally reaches the stoop. As careful as he can, he lets Simon down and tries to get him into a standing position. Simon can’t quite stand on his own, so instead he leans against Markus, one arm around him and his head leaning against Markus’s shoulder. He’s like a radiator. Markus can feel the heat from his body seeping into his jacket. Within a few seconds, the front door creaks open. Markus sees a yellow ring of light first and Josh’s brown eyes second. Josh stands in the doorway, a pouch of blue blood in his hands.

“Markus?” he says. “What’s-”

He stops. His eyes flicker from Markus to Simon. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like an old record stuck on repeat. Without even realizing it, he’s crushed the pouch in his hands, blue liquid seeping around his fingers. The light revolves in his LED. Yellow. Red. Red. Red. Yellow.

“S-Simon?” Josh asks.

Simon opens his mouth, as if to speak. No words come out. Instead, there is a painful, wheezy sound, something that sounds much closer to a woodwind instrument being tortured than coherent words. Simon closes his mouth, looking almost embarrassed. He chooses instead to give Josh a small wave.

“I? You? You’re? How? You were?” Josh stammers.

“He can’t speak right now,” Markus says.

“He? Wh?” Josh drops the pouch, but his baffled expression seems to indicate that he didn’t actively drop it so much as he forgot he had it. He rubs his hands across his face and the back of his head. Streaks of blue follow his fingers, painting his face.

Simon holds out his hand, the one that isn’t around Markus. The skin is already gone, showing nothing but sleek, white plastic.

Josh, for lack of a better response, takes Simon’s hand.

 _Josh?_ Markus hears Simon’s voice. The loose connection between them is apparently enough to facilitate information transfer. _Josh is this you?_

“Y-yes. It’s me, Simon,” Josh says, his voice wobbling. “W-what happened to you? I saw you get….” His sentence trails off, a foregone conclusion.

 _Don’t worry, Josh._ Simon says, like Josh is the one that needs comforting right now. _I’ll be okay. Just need a quick tune-up._ He smiles, but it looks all wrong with his blank eyes.

That seems to spur Josh into action. “Right, of course. A tune-up. Don’t worry Simon, we’ve got you. We’ll get you fixed,” he says, stepping out from the doorway so that he can stand on Simon’s other side and support him there. 

_Thank you._ Simon’s eyelids crinkle, and he smiles wider.

“What does he need?” Josh asks Markus as they bring Simon indoors.

“Two new lung biocomponents. Two new optical units. A lot of blue blood. We’re probably going to have to check his thirium pump regulator too, it might have gotten damaged.”

Josh hisses through his teeth. “That’s a lot.”  
Simon makes a face, like he wants to protest, but he’s still not in a state to speak.

“Do we have all that?” Markus asks.

“We have a bit of blue blood, and I think we have a compatible optical unit somewhere. Nothing for a thirium pump though, and certainly not any lungs. North still isn’t back yet though. I can message her, ask her to look around any abandoned Cyberlife stores while Detroit’s still empty.”

“Do that,” Markus says.

Josh nods. He closes his eyes. His LED flickers, pulsing yellow for just a few seconds before returning to the steady yellow its been since he opened the door.

“Done,” he says.

“Thank you.”

They continue on in a few seconds of silence before Markus hears Josh’s voice in his head.

_What happened? How is Simon here? I thought you shot him._

In lieu of a verbal explanation, Markus reaches out and grabs Josh’s free hand. Josh’s LED flashes. Red. Red. Red. Yellow.

“Jesus…” Josh mutters.

“Yeah,” Markus says.

They manage to get Simon to the part of the church they’ve cordoned off as an infirmary. It’s not much, only a curtain around a makeshift hammock, a chair, and a few boxes of blue blood. While Josh gets a fresh pouch of blue blood, Markus hefts up Simon and sets him down in the hammock, gentle as he can manage. Simon makes a troubled expression and reaches out for Markus’s hand. Markus takes it.

 _Where are we?_ he asks.

 _Jericho,_ Markus replies. _New Jericho._

Simon cocks his head to the side. _New Jericho? What happened to regular Jericho?_

_I’ll tell you later. I’ll tell you everything later._

Simon presses his lips together in a straight line and releases Markus’s hand.

“Here,” Josh says, jamming a straw directly into a pouch and shoving it into Simon’s hands.

Simon takes it and, with some fumbling, finds the straw. He takes a sip. His face curls into a disgusted expression, like he’s licked a lemon.

“Taste gross?” Markus asks.

Simon nods, and takes another reluctant sip.

Markus and Josh stifle a laugh.

“When’s North supposed to be here?” Markus asks Josh.

“She should be close,” Josh says. “Let me check.”

His LED flashes yellow, then a bright red.

The curtain swishes to the side. North stands at the threshold, panting heavily. A bundle of clean, white Cyberlife boxes, fall from her arms and clatter onto the floor. Simon sits a bit more upright and tilts his head, trying to locate the source of the sound.

“North,” Josh and Markus say at the same time.

North doesn’t respond. Instead, she pushes her way through the boxes, right to Simon. She kneels down, puts her arms around him, buries her face in his chest and sobs.

“Simon, oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Simon wraps his arms around her and closes his eyes. He lets his head drop so that his chin rests on the top of her head. The skin fades from the bottom half of his face and from the top half of hers. His LED flickers yellow. Hers flickers yellow and red.

She sobs again. “I’m so fucking _sorry_.”

Markus looks over at Josh. He’s crying as well, silent tears sliding down his face. After rubbing his nose with his sleeve, he goes to join Simon and North, wrapping his arms around them both.

Markus feels his eyes wet. Wiping his eyes, he joins the rest of the group, his arms resting on North and Josh, his head resting on Simon’s shoulder. He feels the connection between the four of them, and yet no one speaks. It’s just there, a gentle pressure on their minds, a mental blanket. North’s sniffling and the howling wind outside echo through the silent church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m about to get on a 10-hour flight home, but that just means I have more time to write the next chapter!


	5. Surgery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for 100+ kudos!!
> 
> I’m back home and have finally caught up on sleep, so enjoy this next chapter

Markus hovers just outside the curtains, fiddling with two pouches of blue blood. North had been the first to break away from the embrace, giving some flimsy excuse of other things she needed to do. After that, Josh had suggested that they try and repair Simon, which conflicted Markus. On one hand, he wanted desperately to help Simon. On the other hand, with his wits about him once again, the mere idea of performing surgery on another android made him queasy. Even before he had to crawl his way out of filthy, android hell, his life with Carl had been a relatively clean and sanitary one.

This was the compromise. Josh would stay inside the curtain and, with a quick download of a PL600 repair manual, fix Simon. Markus would stay outside the curtain and fetch any additional parts he needed. Markus is fine with that. The only thing that bothers him is that he can still _hear_ the procedure.

Josh asking Simon to move various parts of his body.

Rattling, wheezing sounds.

Clicking sounds.

Squelching.

Markus shivers, and he wonders if actually seeing the procedure would be better than the terrible, disgusting images running through his head.

“Markus?” Josh asks, his voice muffled.

“Yes?” Markus replies, glad to have his terrible daydreaming interrupted. 

“There’s more blue blood over by the pulpit, could you—”

“Already got it,” Markus says. The pouches have grown warm in his hands. 

“Just go ahead and hand them to me.”

Markus pulls aside the curtain, and gets a brief glimpse at Simon. From the waist up, he’s stripped down to the endoskeleton. His chest cavity is fully open, exposing pulsing tubes, a still-beating heart, and two large, blank depressions where his lungs should be. Both of his eyes are gone in their entirety, leaving behind two empty sockets in his skull. It’s a frightening image by all means, but even all that isn’t the worst part. The worst part is that Simon is still _moving_. He reaches out for a pouch of blue blood Josh is handing to him, and he turns his head to face Markus when he hears the curtain swish.

Markus yelps. He throws both pouches inside and quickly shuts the curtains again.

“Markus!” Josh yelps in return. Markus can hear the pouches hitting the floor.

“...Sorry.”

“I said _hand_ them to me.” Markus hears Josh huff and hears the scrape of the pouches against the floor as Josh picks them up.

“Sorry. I panicked.”

Josh sighs. “Why don’t you go take a walk around and make sure everyone’s okay?”

“Good idea,” Markus replies, thanking rA9 that he now has an excuse to leave that’s more than being a squeamish wimp.

The church is half full. Markus recognizes a few androids as the ones from the camps and recognizes some others as the ones Connor had brought from CyberLife. Connor had liberated _thousands_ of androids, however, and Markus has no clue where they are or where they’ve gone. They certainly won’t all be able to come back here, if not for sheer lack of room. Markus makes a mental note to talk to North and Josh later about figuring out where thousands of homeless androids could possibly stay.

The androids that _are_ at the church are overjoyed to see Markus. Their reactions vary, but all of them are positive. Some of them simply thank him. Some of them talk about their lives and the impact the revolution had on them. Some of them cry and ask Markus for a hug, to which he always complies. Thankfully, they seem relatively unharmed overall, only having minor injuries. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed with blue blood or a spare part.

Spare parts.

Markus makes another mental note to discuss negotiating for parts and supplies with North and Josh.

And Simon.

Simon. Simon’s back now. He’s alive. Markus will talk with North and Josh _and_ Simon.

How is Simon doing? Is he okay?

Markus hurries back to the infirmary. It’s gone quiet behind the curtain, and Markus assumes the worst before he can make out Josh speaking.

“Alright, Simon. You back with me?”

“I’m here,” Simon says. His voice is quiet, but it’s definitely his voice. Markus puts his head in his hands and sighs in relief.

“Good, good,” Josh says. Then, louder, he addresses Markus. “Alright, Markus,” Josh says. “Why don’t you come in now?”

“Is he—”

“No more exposed organs. He’s fine.”

Markus takes a moment to ready himself. He adjusts his coat and rubs his hands together. Then, he opens the curtain.

Simon’s sitting upright now. Blue stains his lips. He’s wearing his skin again and the unbuttoned WM400 uniform shirt. White scars, tinged with blue at the edges, frame his pump regulator, twisting and turning in thin, jagged trails, like a root system. Markus winces. It looks painful. 

“Hey, Simon,” Markus says, voice soft.

“Hello, Markus,” Simon says. When he smiles, his teeth are stained a pale blue.

“Here.” Josh slips in front of Markus and hands Simon another pouch. A thin film of already-fading blue coats his arms up to the elbow, and, once Simon has taken the pouch, he starts to wipe his hands with a spare rag. His LED flickers, mostly blue with pulses of yellow. ”What’s it at now?”

“88 percent,” Simon replies. He takes a sip from the pouch and winces at the taste. “89 percent,” he appends with a smile.

Josh nods.

“How are you feeling?” Markus asks.

Simon presses a hand to his chest. Closing his eyes, he takes a long, deep breath.

“Better,” he says, opening his eyes again and smiling. “I can finally catch my breath.” He chuckles at his own joke.

Josh groans. Markus forces a smile.

“That was _terrible_ , Simon,” Josh says.

“Thank you.”

“I’m leaving now!” Josh says, throwing up his hands in mock exasperation. “Markus, you deal with him.”

Josh leaves, muttering something about having to wash his hands. Once the curtain swishes closed, Simon gestures for Markus to sit down in the chair in front of him. Markus obliges.

“Did the broadcast work?” Simon asks

Markus is floored. He’d always known it subconsciously, but it’s only now that he actively realizes how much Simon just doesn’t _know_. “Simon,” he says, “it worked. It worked, and we won.”

“Won?” Simon asks. His eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t understand what Markus means.

Markus reaches out and grabs onto Simon’s arm. In that moment, his emotions are so strong that, even through a layer of fabric, information jumps from his mind to Simon’s. “Simon, we’ve freed our people. We _won_.”

“So much has happened,” Simon whispers. A smile tugs at his lips, but tears well at the corners of his eyes. “So much while I’ve been….”

He trails off, and Markus understands. There’s really no word to describe what Simon had gone through. ‘Been away’ is too passive. ‘Been dead’ is too final. 

“What was it like?” Markus asks. “If...If you’re okay telling me.”

Simon furrows his eyebrows. “At first…It was just dark. Like stasis-mode, except...Longer. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed. And then, it was still dark, but I could hear your voice. Except it wasn’t you. It was that detective. The deviant hunter.”

Simon scowls.

“For what it’s worth, he’s on our side now,” Markus offers.

Simon’s expression does not change. “Really? Did he apologize?”

Markus pauses. A quick replay of his memories doesn’t show anything resembling an apology. Connor is prompt and helpful, but not apologetic.

“Yes,” Markus lies.

“Hm.” Simon’s expression softens, but only by the slightest of degrees. “Is North around?” he asks. “I’d like to talk to her.”

“Yes. But. I wanted to talk to you first,” Markus says, spitting the last sentence out as quick as he can.

Simon looks up at him. His eyes are two different colors now. The right is blue, the same, grayish blue it was before. The left is now brown, a dark, coffee-bean color. It reminds Markus of his own heterochromia. A strange sense of affection flutters in his chest.

“Yes?” Simon asks. He sounds so calm, so normal. Markus can’t wrap his head around it.

“Simon, I just wanted to say…”

Markus clenches his fists. This is it. The moment of truth. The singular moment he’s been dreading for the past several hours. “...I’m sorry.” 

Simon blinks once. Twice.

“I forgive you,” he says.

Markus doesn’t even register it at first. It’s so quick, so blasé. “I’m…Pardon?”

“I forgive you,” he says, again. 

Markus wants to say more. He wants to insist that he keep apologizing because there’s no amount of apology that will ever make what he did okay. But Simon wordlessly stands. He opens his arms for a hug. Markus takes the coward’s path. He hugs Simon and says nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come yell with me about androids [here](https://carpevesper.tumblr.com)!


	6. Belltower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, Carl is mentioned is this chapter, and this is a timeline where he died. ((He died in my first playthrough, and I thought it seemed fitting for both this fic in particular and Markus’s story overall.))
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

“How is he?” Markus asks. North stands beside him, leaning in the small room's corner. They’re up in the steeple’s belfry, next to a set of rusted bronze bells. The window shutters are long gone, only a few thin fragments of wood remaining. Wind and flurries of snow whip through the room. Markus’s coat hangs on the railing of the staircase leading into the room. Though neither he nor North could physically feel the cold, it still seemed to drag down his mood.

“Pissed,” North replies.

“Really?” It had only been a few hours since Markus had spoken to Simon, but ever since then, a growing sense of dread had been pooling in his gut. He had won the battle for Detroit, but he felt little more than a sad loser.

“He said he’d forgive me, but it's gonna be some time before he can. I guess that’s pretty good, given the circumstances,” North says with a sad sort of smile.

Markus doesn’t respond with words, just grunts.

“What’s wrong?” North asks.

“I’m upset.”

“About?”

“Simon.”

“Simon?” North cocks her head to the side. “Why? You talked to him, didn’t you?”

“Well, I mean, I _did_. But…I don’t know. How long did you guys talk for?”

“He yelled at me for an hour and a half, then we talked for fifteen minutes.”

Markus's eyes widen. He had expected that the conversation between him and Simon would have been different from the one between North and Simon, but it was still a shocking disparity. “An _hour_ and a _half_?”

“Yes?” North says. “Why do you say it like that?”

“We talked for five minutes, tops.”

North purses her lips. “Did you apologize to him?”

“Yes, of course, I apologized.”

“And did he forgive you?”

“Yes. But…”

“But what?”

“It didn’t feel right.”

“You apologized, and he forgave you. I thought that’s what you wanted?”

Markus huffs. She’s right: it is what he wanted. He'd spend several hours agonizing over this exact issue with her and Josh. He wished he could have done it differently. Given a chance, he would have turned back time and fixed everything in an instant. He would have apologized to Simon. In his lowest moments, he wanted nothing more than Simon’s forgiveness. He wanted something that was, at the time, impossible. Yet now, here forgiveness was. Here it was, very real and given without a second thought, and it just made him feel worse. 

“It _is_ what I wanted, but it….” Markus groans and rubs his eyes with his palms. “It feels like I don’t deserve it.”

North shrugs. “Listen, Markus, I can’t help you there. That sounds like something you need to talk about with Simon.”

“You’re right,” Markus says, hating that she’s right. He can’t sit up here, moping in the bell tower, feeling guilty and hoping that’ll solve all his problems. But it’s what he’d rather do.

“He’s still in the infirmary. Feel free to go talk to him.” North looks out into the Detroit night. It’s well into the morning now, but the streets are still abandoned. The dense cloud cover blocks any light from coming through, and the snow has not yet stopped.

“I will,” Markus says, doing his best not to sound as sour as he feels.

It must work because North smiles. “Good. I’ve got to go now, but feel free to come find me, if you want to talk again.

“Thank you, North.”

“Of course, Markus.”

She leaves back down the stairs. Markus listens to her go, listens to the sound of her footsteps getting fainter and fainter until he can’t hear them at all. Now that his only audience is gone, an unprecedented anger bubbles in his chest. He wants to be mad at North, or at Simon, but really, he’s mad at himself. He’s mad at his own inability to express regret like a rational, reasonable person. He’s mad that he ever thought that the end would justify the means when the means was his own friend’s life.

Markus yells. Whirling around on one foot, he punches the bell behind him. It gives one last ring, a distorted, faltering sound. There is a loud ‘clunk,’ and the rust-coated clapper falls to the floor, sending up a burst of snow and dirt and dust. Unsatisfied, Markus picks up the broken part and hurls it out of the belfry window. For a few brief moments, there is only the sound of wind. Then, there is a distant thump, the sound of the part falling to the street below. It’s satisfying only for a moment, and then Markus just feels guilty for breaking the bell. With a heavy sigh, he crosses his arms on the windowsill and rests his chin on his arms.

“What do I do, Carl?” he asks the winter air. “We’ve won. My people are free. I’ve saved millions of lives, but I can't seem to get my own in order. How am I going to lead thousands of people when I can’t deal with just one?”

The wind howls.

“I wish you were still here. North, Josh, Simon, I would have loved for you to meet them. You would have liked Simon. Not that you wouldn't like North or Josh. It just seems like you two would get along well.

Somewhere far away, sirens wail.

“He’s kinda like you. Kind. Caring. I bet he would have loved your art. He’d probably be pretty good at painting too.”

Markus smiles, imagining Carl meeting Simon. He imagines them sitting down in the living room to discuss art and philosophy, Carl gesturing with a glass of scotch in his hand and Simon nodding along, his LED flickering yellow. He imagines Simon standing in the studio, palette in hand, working intently as Carl watches him with a smile on his face. It's a comforting and saddening image all at once.

“I miss you, Carl,” Markus says, closing his eyes. “What should I do?”

A red color burns against Markus’s left eyelid. Markus opens his eyes and squints, trying to locate the source of the disturbance. Looking up, he sees that the clouds have parted slightly, just enough to allow a single ray of sunlight to cut through the sky and shine onto his face.

Markus chuckles.

“Thank you, Carl.”

He’s not going to wallow anymore, Markus tells himself. He’s going to go back down there and apologize properly, the way that Simon deserves. He’s going to do it, he will, he _will_ , Markus tells himself as he dons his coat once again and marches down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry this update took so long. I've been dealing with some personal things and school starting again, but now I've finally gotten back into a writing groove.
> 
> Thank you all once again for your patience and support! You won't have to wait as long for the next chapter, I promise


	7. Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god I love Simon

There were some issues. Several issues, in fact, most of them stemming from the fact that being the leader of a whole new race of people left Markus with very little free time. It’s been a week since his declaration to himself that he is going to get his shit together and give Simon a real apology, and he’s done nothing of the sort.

In all fairness, he’s been _trying_. (Markus doesn’t even think he’s trying to shift the blame this time, he really has been.) It’s just that every single time he approaches Simon, Simon seems to deflect the issue. By the time he manages to work his way back to the apology, he’s out of free time.

“Simon, can we talk?” is always met with a “Yes, of course.” That immediately precedes Simon launching into a lengthy discussion about negotiations or Jericho that leaves Markus forgetting what he meant to talk about in the first place.

“Are you doing okay?” is always met with a nod, sometimes a smile, and never anything more.

“I’d like to apologize” is always met with a thousand variations of “it’s okay.” “Don’t worry about it.” “What’s done is done.” “Don’t worry about it.” “Water under the bridge.” “I forgive you.” 

The worst part about the whole thing is that Simon’s upset at everyone _but_ Markus. Though he will speak to North, it’s only in clipped, formal sentences, never saying anything more than he has to. At every mention of Connor, his expression hardens. His eyebrows furrow and his lips press into a straight line. He speaks of the DPD, the entire city of Detroit, in fact, with an air of contempt.

But he’s never mad at Markus. For Markus, he offers nothing but gentle smiles and kind words.

It makes Markus want to scream. He knows he doesn’t deserve it.

He snaps during apology attempt twenty-one.

It’s the middle of the day. Despite the overcast morning, it’s a bright and sunny afternoon. It reminds him of Carl, and that is the only reason he can even work up the energy to try and apologize again.

Simon is outside, in the small, dilapidated garden behind the church. He’s here most of the time when he’s not busy with the other leaders or talking with Jericho’s new arrivals. He spends his time cleaning, moving the rubble and dusting away the debris. Markus doesn’t know why he does it. His best guess is that it's the last vestigial traces of Simon’s original programming. This church was his home now, and he was programmed to take care of a home. Markus thinks his explanation would make the most sense considering how, despite the rest of his cleaning, Simon hasn’t touched the overgrown plants. Markus is relatively sure that the PL600 model came out before any domestic androids were equipped with any gardening programs.

“Hey, Simon,” Markus says, closing the door behind him as he steps out into the garden.

Simon, crouching over a dirt bed, looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Hello!” He has a sizeable piece of stone, larger than a basketball, tucked underneath his arm.

“That looks heavy,” Markus says, pointing at it. “You want any help?”

“I’m fine,” Simon replies, smoothly adjusting his grip on it as he stands upright as if to show how easy it is.

Markus nods. All androids were naturally stronger than humans, and, with a few exceptions, most androids were just as strong as each other. Still, some androids just seemed better suited to their strength. Markus always felt that he and North, with their appearances and personalities, _looked_ like they ought to be strong. It was jarring to see someone as gentle-looking as Simon handling hundred-pound stones as if they were nothing. 

“Could we…talk?” Markus asks, sheepish. 

“Of course. One second.”

Simon takes a few steps casually tosses the rock up against the church wall. It lands next to several others with a heavy ‘thunk.’ He turns to face Markus and puts his hands on his hips. Where he stands, the sun is at just the right angle behind him. A soft halo of light surrounds his body. Rays of sunlight shine through his hair, making it appear not blond but a glowing, bright white. Though it's not cloudy, a few traces of snow have begun to fall, dusting Simon’s shoulders.

“What is it?” he asks. “If it’s about negotiating more with the DPD, I actually—”

“No, no. It’s not about that.” Markus wrings his hands. “Simon, I really want to apologize for what I did. It wasn’t right of me, and—”

“Markus, we’ve been over this,” Simon says, cutting him off. He’s not mad. He’s not even annoyed. 

Markus wants to scream until his lungs give out.

“You don't need to keep apologizing. It’s okay. I forgive you.” Simon smiles, and it’s so serene that it’s _infuriating_.

Markus has had enough.

“But you shouldn’t!” he yells, clenching his fists.

Simon flinches, and his LED goes from blue to yellow. A confused expression flashes across his face. He’d probably foreseen Markus apologizing again, but he apparently hadn’t been expecting this response. “But–”

“Simon, I _shot_ you! You've been acting like I stepped on your foot. I shot you point-blank! You were dead! You _died!_ I _killed_ you!”

“Markus, I–”

“Why aren’t you upset?! You’re allowed to be upset!” Markus gestures with his hands and takes a step closer to Simon.

“Markus, I don’t want to be mad at you.” Simon’s LED flickers. Yellow. Yellow. Yellow.

“But why not? Why not!” Markus only shouts louder. There’s a ninety-nine percent chance that the people inside the church can hear him. At this point, he doesn’t care anymore. “You’re mad at North. You’re mad at Connor. You’re mad at this entire _city_. But you’re not mad at me, and I’m the one who pulled the goddamn trigger! Why don’t you want to be mad at me? I'm the one who deserves it!”

“Because….” Simon’s sentence dies on his tongue. He clasps his hands together, rubbing the backs of his hands with his thumbs. His LED flickers again. Yellow. Red. Yellow.

“'Because' what?”

Simon says nothing. A faint blue tinge shades his cheeks. “It’s…nothing.”

“Simon, if you never tell me I’m never going to know.” 

The blue tinge grows darker. Simon starts to say, to stutter something, but whatever force had stolen his voice before steals it again.

Markus gets closer and closer to Simon, crowding his personal space without even realizing it. His hands continue to talk along with him, gesturing even more wildly. Simon inches back in smaller increments the closer he gets. “Simon, _please_ tell me what’s going on!”

Markus takes one more step. Simon does not step back.

Three things happen all at once. 

The first is with Simon. His LED flashes red. He scrunches his eyes shut and makes a strange sound, somewhat a yelp, somewhat a squeak. It, combined with his blue cheeks, would have been a very endearing sight, had Markus been in the frame of mind to appreciate it and not overwhelmed with confusion and frustration.

The second is with Simon’s hands. They seem to act on their own volition. One grasps at Simon’s own chest, burying his fingers within the blue fabric of his shirt. The other darts out and clutches at one of Markus’s hands. Markus hadn’t even noticed, in part because he was too worked up, in part because Simon’s gloves covered everything but his already-pale fingers, but there was no more skin on his hands.

The third is within Markus’s mind. The moment Simon grabs his hand, their consciousnesses smash together. Simon's mind is no longer the calm and steady glacier it was that night on an empty Detroit street. It’s an ocean. Impossibly powerful, impossibly infinite, it’s a deep, swirling expanse. Thoughts crash against the insides of Simon’s mind and spill over into Markus’s head.

It’s beautiful.

And terrifying.

And Markus feels what Simon’s been feeling.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're starting to get to the good stuff!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	8. Minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting...interesting
> 
> ((THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR 200+ KUDOS YOU'RE WONDERFUL AND I WOULD KISS YOU ALL IF I COULD))

It’s _love_.

The feeling floods over and through Markus’s entire body. It swirls in his chest. It pulses through his fingertips. In all his life, it’s the single strongest emotion he’s ever experienced. He’s felt love for Carl, but that was a different sort of love. That was familial love, strong and true, like a steel rope. This love is a tidal wave, heady and unpredictable and overwhelming. Markus can’t even comprehend how Simon’s still functioning. If it were him, struck firsthand with such intense emotions, he’s sure his heart would have simply stopped beating.

Simon's memories mix in with his emotions, reflecting them, amplifying them. It’s as if Markus is in Simon’s head, watching what he had seen and what he had felt.

He sees, through Simon’s eyes, when he (Markus) first fell into Jericho. Long-rotted boards snap from above, and the sound of a heavy impact echoes through the old ship. Dust billows in the air. He feels fear. Anticipation. Then, the dust clears, and a figure stands. ( _That’s me, that’s me,_ Markus can’t help but think.) The effect is instant: a sharp pang of attraction and awe, piercing his heart like an arrow.

He senses Simon thinking again and again about, endearingly enough, his freckles. From across the room, as Markus roams around, he focuses in, trying to count every individual mole. Whenever Markus speaks, his eyes start making proper eye contact, but they always drift down, distracted again and again.

Simon admires an innumerable amount of tiny details about Markus, ones that Markus probably would never have even realized.

His two different-colored eyes.

The precise way he moves.

The flutter of his jacket’s coattails as he walks.

The curve of his hands and fingers.

The curious expression he makes while he's suspending in analysis.

The warm, steady tone of his voice.

The abstract emotions and snippets of memory fade away until Markus is witnessing one, distinct memory, one soaked at the edges with fear and sorrow. He sees the sky from atop the roof of a snowy building. There’s a searing, crippling pain in his legs and abdomen and a gun pointed at his face.

“ _I’m sorry, Simon,_ ” that voice he loves so much says. “ _I don’t have a choice._

A new, different sort of pain spiderwebs his heart. It’s more painful than his ruined legs.

“ _There’s always a choice,_ ” he says in response. He knows it’s a last resort. A hail mary. Last-ditch effort. All he can do is pray and hope and beg that one of those long, beautiful fingers doesn't move to the trigger.

The finger moves. It squeezes. The world goes dark.

Markus shakes his head, and, suddenly, he’s back in his own body. He’s in his own body, with Simon right in front of him. Simon's pupils are dilated so far that his irises are nothing more than thin rings of blue and brown. He's blinking excessively, and his face is the darkest shade of blue Markus thinks it’s ever been. His one hand is still buried in his own jacket, clenching the fabric so tightly that the seams groan and threaten to tear. The other hand, skin still gone, clutches Markus’s own. Without even Markus even realizing it, his skin had retracted as well, all the way down to his elbow.

With his own mind, in his own body, Markus tries to process the fact that Simon loves him. He loves him so much that Markus is practically _glowing_ in his memories. 

“Simon" is all Markus can manage to say.

Simon stammers, a dozen different sentences stopping and starting within less than two seconds. 

Markus tries to speak again. “Simon, I—”

Simon kisses him. It’s quick. Haphazard. It doesn’t even land on his lips, catching the corner of his mouth instead. He gets all of two seconds to process what’s happening before Simon pulls away. 

“I….” Simon’s face practically glows blue. 

“Simon,” Markus begins, though he doesn’t know how the sentence will end.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” Simon covers his face with both his hands, releasing Markus’s hand in the process. 

With the lack of contact, the skin returns to Markus’s arm, and the connection between the two of them ends. Markus feels empty at once. It was nice to be holding Simon’s hand. He wants to hold it again. He wants that connection _back_.

Meanwhile, Simon seems to be having no inner dialogue of the sort. His hands are like a record skipping, unable to decide whether they want to be covering his face or held out as a barrier between himself and Markus. His mouth flops open and closed, like a fish out of water, neither saying words nor breathing air.

Markus opens his mouth to speak.

“I need to leave!” Simon yelps.

Before Markus can get even a single word out, Simon scrambles around him and flees back inside the church. When the door slams behind him, it sounds like the bell Markus had broken a week before.

Markus brings his hand up to feel his lips. Then, he closes his eyes. With little more than a thought, he drags his own memories to the front of his mind. Like rewinding a movie, he scans back until he finds the exact moment Simon kissed him. For just a moment, Markus pities humans and their muddy, flakey memories, because right now every sense comes back in a perfect reproduction.

At the split-second moment of the kiss, Markus’s eyes were closed. There’s nothing he can see. But each of his other senses tells a story.

There’s the faint, wet scent of dirt and soil, likely from Simon’s skin.

There’s the sound of wind swirling around them and the sound of cars, far off in the distance.

There's the taste of snowflakes melting.

There’s the feeling of soft lips pressed to the corner of his mouth and the comforting warmth radiating from Simon's face.

Markus opens his eyes. There’s no smell of dirt, no sound of wind, no taste of snow, no feeling of warm lips against his own, and no Simon. He sees nothing but the empty, dilapidated garden in front of him.

It’s then Markus realizes that he’s an _idiot_ because A) he somehow hadn’t realized Simon was head over heels in love with him; B) he didn’t say anything to Simon to calm him down after he revealed what was probably his biggest, most embarrassing secret; C) he’s replaying a memory of kissing Simon when, if he had played his cards differently, he could probably be kissing Simon for real right now.

"Shit!" Markus races back inside the church, running as fast as his legs will take him. He has _four_ things he needs to apologize for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are Fools and I love them


	9. Interim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments, kudos, and patience! I wanted to post this chapter sooner, but I just had so much to write! Things are about to get juicy, so I hope you enjoy this longer chapter!

Markus spends five minutes searching for Simon but finds North and Josh first. They’re sitting on a pew, talking to each other about something that is probably more important than Markus’s idiocy. But goddamnit, Markus runs this place, he knows everything is in order, and he needs five minutes to be selfish and deal with his own problems.

“North, Josh! Emergency meeting, _now_!” he whisper-yells, slamming his hands onto the back of the pew bench as he comes up behind him. They both turn around and look at him, the confusion evident on their faces. 

“Are you okay, Markus?” Josh asks.

“I am absolutely not okay right now,” Markus replies.

“What’s wrong?” North asks.

“I need to find and talk to Simon because, apparently, I’m a moron and, apparently, he’s in love with me.”

North and Josh turn to each other and stare, their LEDs both yellow. Markus doesn’t even think they’re communicating; they’re just looking. After a second more, they turn back to Markus. “You didn’t know?” they say in unison.

“No!” Markus sputters. He can feel his face heating up. “How was I supposed to know?”

“He stepped down as leader the moment he saw you,” Josh says.

“He kept staring at your lips when you were talking,” North adds.

“Or at you when someone else was talking.”

“Or when you were just around.”

“He listened to all your plans.”

“He always agreed with you.”

“He—”

“Okay, okay!” Markus cuts them off with a shout and frantic arm waving. His face is definitely blue now. “Maybe, there were some things that, in retrospect, should have clued me in.”

“Markus, you’re a fucking idiot,” North says.

“I know that!” Markus hisses back. “You can make fun of me all you want later, but right now I need your help.”

“What do you need our help for?” Josh asks.

“I don’t know where Simon’s gone,” Markus says. “Did either of you see him when he came back inside?”

“No,” Josh says.

“He might have gone to his room,” North suggests.

There wasn’t enough room in the church for every android to have their own room. With androids not needing sleep or the psychological comfort of personal space the way humans did, having a room wasn’t essential in the first place. As the de facto leaders of Jericho, North, Josh, and Markus had converted a few abandoned spots in the church into rooms for themselves, spaces for planning, mostly. After Simon returned, they told him that he could make a place of his own. But that had been something he had done on his own.

“Well, where is his room?” Markus asks.

“Uh,” Josh says.

North shrugs.

“Come on! Between the three of Simon’s closest friends, we don’t know where his room is?”

Josh looks guilty.

“Do you know how busy we’ve been?” North asks. “We’ve barely got time to manage everyone else, let alone each other.”

“Okay, fine,” Markus concedes. “But that still doesn’t tell us where he is.”

“Can’t you call him?” Josh asks.

“He’s turned off his communications.” Markus taps his temple, where his LED used to be. “He can’t hear us, and we can’t hear him. We’re going to have to just...find him. Like a manhunt.”

“Oh this will be fun,” North says.

“North! This is serious!” Josh says, horrified.

North winces. “Right, my bad. Sorry, Markus. Let’s get to looking.”

Markus rubs his hands across his face. Granted, the church isn’t _that_ large. It’s not like they have to sweep an entire city, and it’s not like anyone’s life is in danger. Still, the church has enough nooks, crannies, rooms, and side rooms that searching the whole place is going to be a massive pain in the ass. No one’s life is technically in danger, but Markus still feels that he’s going to die if he can’t find Simon and talk to him within the next fifteen minutes.

It takes an hour and a half.

After one hour hours of dead ends, dusty old rooms, and leads that lead nowhere, Markus finds what must have been the only android in the entire church that saw where Simon went. It took another thirty minutes for Markus to pick his way through the world’s faintest paper trail. He has what is only a fraction more than nothing to lead the way. One-sixteenth of a shoe print, left in a thin layer of dust. On the floor, a single strand of blond, synthetic hair. One, ridgeless fingerprint on a doorframe, one that could match the size of Simon’s hand, but could also match any other PL600’s hand.

(Were there any other PL600s at the church? Markus doesn’t remember seeing anyone who looked remotely like Simon. Then again, he thinks Simon’s face has become so distinct in his mind in the last week and few hours that a PL600 wouldn’t even register as Simon.)

A closed door is his final clue. None of the doors in the church were fully closed and, certainly, none of them were locked. Markus rattles the door handle. It doesn’t budge. He pauses and presses his ear to the door. At first, he hears nothing. Then, there is the betraying sound of feet shuffling across a wooden floor.

“Simon?” Markus asks. “Are you in there?”

He hears no words in response, but he does catch the sound of someone's breathing speeding up.

Markus closes his eyes and reaches out to North and Josh. _Found him. He’s locked himself in a room. Please come help._

He sends his last thought along with a marker of his location.

_On my way_ , Josh says, along with a marker of his own location.

_:3c_ , North says.

North arrives first, followed soon after by Josh.

“Have you tried talking to him?” Josh asks.

“Yes,” Markus says. “He won’t answer me.”

Josh presses his lips together and knocks on the door himself. “Simon? You in there?”

“...Yes,” Simon says. His voice sounds strained.

“You know Markus is out here, trying to talk to you.”

“I do.”

“Are you going to let him in?”

“No.”

Markus and Josh wince. North pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Simon,” Josh says. “You can’t just lock yourself in there forever.”

“Yes I can,” Simon replies, muffled. “Just leave me here to die.”

“Alright, this is stupid,” North declares, and, with one of her heavy boots, kicks the door open. Markus doesn’t even get a chance to think before that same heavy boot is placed between his shoulder blades, and he’s rather unceremoniously shoved into the room. He manages to himself half a second before he falls flat on his face.

Markus pushes himself up so that he’s sitting on his heels. The first thing is Simon, crouched on a cot shoved into the room’s corner, hugging his knees to his chest. His cheeks are wet and shiny. For being in the bowels of an abandoned, rotting church, the room is remarkably clean, completely lacking dust or dirt. A neat stack of broken boards sits in the corner, and various trinkets and keepsakes sit atop a worn-down desk.

The moment Markus catches sight of Simon, Simon’s eyes go wide. His LED goes from a stuttering to a full yellow. He springs up and rushes to the door, trying to slither his way out before it closes.

No dice. The door slams shut right in Simon’s face. He puts his palms on the door and pushes.

“North!” he shouts. “Let me out!”

“You talked with me! Now talk with Markus!” North yells through the door.

“But I already did!” Simon yells back in a manner that’s so childish and petulant that, under different circumstances, Markus would have laughed.

“Bullshit! Talk to him.” 

Simon tries to open the door. It won’t budge an inch. Shoving more and violently jiggling the door handle gets Simon nowhere.

“I’ll keep this door closed all night if I have to!” Markus would bet everything he has that North is grinning from behind the door.

“Josh,” Simon pleads, pressing his entire body against the door, “make her open it.”

“Sorry, Simon,” Josh says, sounding almost apologetic. “I’m gonna have to agree with her for once. It’s for your and Markus’s own good.”

After he gets over the initial shock, Simon his _mad_. Forget the garden, this is the fastest Markus has seen his face go blue. His LED pulses a steady red.

“You guys _suck_!” he screeches, banging his fists against the door. “You’re terrible, _terrible_ friends! You guys are _awful_ and I _hate_ you!”

They don’t respond, but the door still doesn’t budge. After a few more minutes of screaming and complaining, Simon seems to calm down. He stops yelling, stops pounding on the door. His LED slows to a steady yellow, flecked with bands of red, rather than the other way around. He sighs and, bracing his forearms against the door, presses his forehead against them. From underneath his arms, he catches Markus’s eye.

Markus sighs, gets up, and makes his way to the cot in the corner. He sits down and pats the space beside him. Simon, arms crossed, stalks over and sits down on the opposite side of the cot, as far away from Markus as possible.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Markus asks.

“I didn’t want you to be upset at me,” Simon mutters.

“That was your plan? Hide your feelings forever so I wouldn't be upset at _you_?

“Yes!”

“Simon, why on _earth_ would knowing your feelings upset me?”

Simon sighs. He puts his head in his hands and drags his palms down his face. He takes a deep breath. Then another.

“I never told you about when I deviated, did I?”

“No,” Markus says, and he swears he can feel his blood run as cold as its color. _Nobody_ from Jericho knew how or when Simon had deviated. He had always been there, the one constant, shrouded in mystery.

Simon closes his eyes. He takes one last deep breath and does not exhale.

“Before I deviated, I…”

He cringes.

“…belonged…to a man. His name was Peter.”

His LED circles.

“He wasn’t married. No children. No siblings. There wasn’t much of a household to care for. He wasn’t the type of person that usually bought a model like me. It’s probably because I was the only thing in his price range.”

Simon chuckles, but it’s hardly a proper laugh. It's more a single, sharp exhalation of air accompanied by a small ‘huh’ sound from his chest. 

“Anyways, that’s beside the point. The point is, for months, nearly a year, it was just him and me. Of course, I was working. I cooked, and I cleaned, and I did all the laundry, and I did all the shopping. But…Peter would always come home. And he’d talk about his day, the things he’d done, the things he’d seen. It was nice.”

Simon smiles at the memory.

“He’d ask me about my day too. Of course, I never had much to say. ‘I cleaned the house.’ ‘I went out to buy groceries, and children were playing in the park.’ Uninteresting things. But he listened.”

Though Simon’s voice has grown calmer, his LED hasn’t deviated from its steady yellow.

“There were some nights, I think they were the nights he felt sad. He’d come home and, after dinner, he’d ask me to tell him jokes. Or stories. He had a favorite joke. He’d laugh every time I told it. Do you want to hear it?”

Markus nods. The corners of Simon’s lips quirk up, and a short band of blue circles in his LED.

“Two hunters are out in the woods when one of them collapses. He doesn't seem to be breathing, and his eyes are glazed. The other guy whips out his phone and calls the emergency services. He gasps, ‘My friend is dead! What can I do?’ The operator says, ‘Calm down. I can help. First, let's make sure he's dead.’ There is a silence; then a gunshot is heard. Back on the phone, the man says, ‘OK, now what?’”

Markus tries his best not to laugh. It doesn’t work, and the chuckle escapes his lips. He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I’ll admit, that was pretty good.”

Simon smiles. “Peter thought so too.”

He looks down at the floor and, lost in thought, his smile falls away, the left corner, then the right.

“One night, he just wanted to watch movies, a whole marathon from the 2010s. We just sat on the couch and watched these movies, and he fell asleep. And do you wanna know the strangest thing?”

“What?” Markus asks.

“I kept watching. He was asleep, out cold on my shoulder. He’d fallen asleep on the couch before, and before then I just did what he’d told me to do: I’d take him to his room and then clean until morning. But I didn’t do that.”

The story begins to unfold in Markus’s mind, the pieces of the puzzle starting to snap together. “Why?” he asks.

“Because I didn’t want to,” Simon says, and with the way he whispers it, it sounds like a confession. “Because I liked sitting on that couch. I liked watching that movie. I liked having him asleep on my shoulder.”

Markus feels something sharp in his heart. There’s something about the way Simon says his, his whisper, his wide eyes. It makes the moment sound so gentle, so tender.

“Did you say anything to him?” Markus asks

“No,” Simon says, frowning. “What could I have said? I wasn’t supposed to feel like that, and I knew that. So I just kept doing what I was told to do, up until this day. One day, he came home, and he brought this lady, this woman, with him. They were on a date. And for the first time, I felt…mad. Up until that point it had always been him and me, and no one else. I felt like the two of us had something special, and she was intruding on it.”

“So what did you do?” Markus asks.

“I was halfway through serving them dinner. I don’t even remember what I said, but whatever it was, it was rude. He snapped at me. I snapped at him. The woman, she got afraid and left. After that, we got in a full-blown argument. He couldn’t understand why I was mad at him, _how_ I was mad at him. And…”

Simon sighs.

“He said ‘fuck off, I’m going to bed.’” When Simon speaks, his voice becomes a different one, low and rough, something that sounds sound right coming out of Simon’s mouth.

Peter’s voice.

“In the morning, a package came. It was an AP model android, brand new. And I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared. I didn’t know what he’d do with me. So I just…”

Simon shakes his head and throws up his hands.

“Ran.”

Simon wipes his eyes. Markus feels a tight pain in his chest. From the back of his mind, he sees Simon’s memories of him, and it doesn’t take a genius to compare the two pictures.

“You didn’t want to be upset at me because you thought I’d abandon you, Markus says. “Like Peter.”

“Like Peter,” Simon says.

Simon puts his chin in his hands and looks down at the floor. The sun must have just set because the light in the room was slowly fading away. The last straggling rays of light in the room shone across Simon’s face, illuminating a few horizontal bands of light across his face. They make his hair glow and his eyes glisten.

“How did I not see that? Markus asks. “I saw your memories of me, but I didn’t see a thing about Peter. Him, the movies, the woman, the android. I didn’t see any of it.”

With tears in his eyes, Simon smiles. “I’ve gotten good at hiding my feelings, Markus. I’ve been hiding them ever since I had them.”

That sentence alone makes Markus want to cry, but he does his best to not. He needs to hold it together for Simon. Markus thinks of Simon’s story, then compares it to all the other stories he had heard. There was something different about Simon’s story. Some differing variable, one slight change. After a moment, he realizes it.

“You didn’t deviate out of fear,” Markus says, wonder in his voice. “You deviated out of _love_.”

Simon nods.

“I…that’s incredible. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anything like that.”

“Me neither. I think I might be the only one. That’s why I don’t tell anyone anymore.”

“Not even North or Josh?"

Simon gives Markus a withering look. “Do you _really_ think I would tell two people who deviated because of fear and violence that _I_ deviated because I got jealous?”

Markus bitterly wishes he could pre-construct conversations so he wouldn’t say such stupid, oblivious things. “Right, sorry. But you said you used to tell people?” 

“It was a long time ago. Before you. Before even North or Josh. I’d tell other people, and they just…wouldn’t believe me. They’d say that there’s no way I could have deviated like that. That I was faking.”

“What?” Markus scrunches his nose. “That’s absurd. How do you fake free will?” 

Simon shrugs. “See, that’s what I thought too. But after a while…I don’t know. I think it got to me. I guess I started to doubt my own humanity. Like I wasn’t a real person, because I hadn’t suffered like everyone else.”

“Just because you’re experiences are different, that doesn’t make them fake. You went through an experienced, and it changed you. You’re not ‘not a real person.’” He puts his hands on Simon’s shoulders and looks him square in the eye. Simon flinches, and his LED circles yellow. Markus doesn’t let go, however, because he _wants_ Simon to know this, to believe him when he says “Simon, you’re the most genuine person I know.”

Simon starts to cry, large tears sliding down his cheeks. Markus wants to wipe them away. He wants to brush them off Simon’s face with his thumbs and hold his face and kiss the trails they left behind, but it doesn’t seem appropriate, given the circumstances.

“God, you’re so _nice_ ,” he whimpers. “You’re so nice. And smart. And pretty. And good at making decisions.”   
”I just remember…” Simon hiccups “…seeing you and thinking: ‘I’d die for you.’ I just…” he hiccups again “…didn’t think I’d actually die, you know? And I didn’t think…I didn’t think….”

Simon holds it together for half a second and then bursts into full-fledged sobbing. 

“I didn’t think _you’d_ kill me.”

He buries his face into Markus’s chest and bawls. Markus drops his chin so that it’s resting on the top of Simon’s head and pulls him as close as he can in a hug that would have broken ribs if Simon were human.

“Simon, I don’t want you to die for me,” he says into Simon’s hair. “I want you to live for me.”

That makes Simon cry all the harder. Snot and tears soak through Markus’s shirt, but, if Simon doesn’t want to move, and, judging from the way he’s clutching Markus, he doesn’t, Markus won’t make him. Markus rubs circles into his shoulder blade. 

Soon, the sobbing fades to crying, and the crying fades to sniffling. Simon looks up from Markus’s chest, his face a splotchy blue and his eyes blue-tinged. He lets go of Markus, sniffs, and wipes his nose. 

“Simon,” Markus says, taking hold of one of his hands, “What I did was inexcusable, and I know that simple apologies won’t make it right, but I want you to know from the bottom of my heart that I am sorry, and I regret it more than anything I’ve ever done.”

One corner of Simon’s mouth ticks up.

“Thank you for listening to me, Markus.” Then, he makes a strange, almost regretful face. “Well, now you know everything about me. And if you don’t ever want to talk to me again, that’s fine, although I’d appreciate it if you left my room so that–”

Markus puts his hand on the back of Simon’s head and pulls him into a kiss. It’s a proper kiss this time, Markus’s lips pressed squarely to Simon’s.

This time, Markus gets to enjoy all the sensations as they happen. Simon’s hair feels soft between his fingers, and his lips, wet from speaking, feel even softer. He smells clean, strongly like soap and faintly like blueberries. Markus wonders for a moment if he tastes like blueberries as well, and for a moment he’s struck by an overwhelming desire to find out. Considering that Simon was crying on his chest not more than a minute ago, he decides that sticking his tongue in his mouth was probably not the way to go, at least for now.

He opens his eyes just a sliver because he wants to look at Simon. The brilliant cobalt shade has returned to his cheeks, and his eyelids flutter. Markus takes a moment to appreciate the sharp curve Simon’s jaw, the strong line of his nose.

Soon, Markus pulls away. Simon stays still for a moment. Then, his eyelids slowly blink back open. His lips are parted just slightly, and he looks dazed as if he’d just woken up or had a bit too much to drink. He touches the tips of his fingers to his lips.

“Can I forgive you now?” he asks, breathless.

“Yes,” Markus says with a slight smile. “You can. But only if it’s because you want to, and not because you think I’ll abandon you if you don’t.”

Simon nods. “I want to.”

“Are you sure?” Markus asks.

“Yes,” Simon says. “Of course. I’m upset because of what you did, and we can talk about it more at some point. But right now, I just want to forgive you because it’s going to hurt me more if I don’t.”

“That’s perfectly fine.”

“Also, I really want to kiss you again.”

Markus grins. A light, happy feeling flutters in his chest. “Well then get back over here.”

Simon smiles so hard it looks like his face is going to split in two. He all but launches himself at Markus, locking their lips together. Markus’s hands find their way to grip Simon’s hips, and Simon wraps his arms around the back of Markus’s neck. Simon’s skin burns pleasantly against his hands, and the warmth seems to spread from his hands throughout the rest of his body, settling at a comfortable place below his ribs. When Markus swipes his tongue across Simon’s lips and, to his delight, Simon _does_ taste faintly like blueberries. Simon smiles against his lips.

Soon, they both seem to tire. Stress and excitement had been keeping Markus going the past few hours and, with the primary source of his anxiety gone, the exhaustion of the day creeps up on him. Something similar seems to be happening to Simon because their kiss slowly becomes slower and lazier. Eventually, Markus manages to work up the strength and energy to pull away from Simon.

“It’s getting late,” Markus says. “I need to go into stasis mode soon. I think I should get going.”

Markus goes to sit up but, with his unapparent strength, Simon pushes him back down onto the cot. He says something, something Markus can’t hear because his face is buried in his chest.

“Pardon?” Markus asks.

Eyes still closed, Simon props his chin up on Markus’s sternum. “Don’t leave,” he says.

Markus stifles a laugh, because Simon with his eyes closed, his hair mussed, and his lips a pale blue is the most endearing sight he’s ever seen. “Where I’m I gonna go?”

“Just stay with me,” Simon mumbles.

“Well, how could I say no to you,” Markus quips.

Simon’s face glows a darker shade, and he puts his face back down on Markus’s chest. With a slight adjustment, Markus hauls his own legs up onto the cot and leans back. Simon follows suit. They end up with Markus laying on his back with Simon’s head resting on his chest, their legs tangled together.

“Comfortable?” Markus asks.

“Mhm,” Simon replies. His LED pulses a steady blue.

“Goodnight, Simon.

“G’night, Markus.”

Within less than a minute, Simon’s breathing slows. With one last pulse, his LED circles, turns off, and Simon falls into stasis mode. Markus does not yet fall asleep. He stays awake, running his hands through Simon’s hair, feeling his body temperature gradually drop. Soon, the inky tendrils of sleep pull down Markus as well. He falls asleep with his hand resting on the nape of Simon’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was initially going to end the story here, but since you all have been so kind and supportive, I'm going to write one more chapter of pure, concentrated fluff, just for you. Get your insulin pens ready.


	10. Simon's Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the fluff you wonderful, lovely readers deserve.

Markus awakens. His eyes open, and some internal, innate sense tells him that it is 7:24AM, 18°F, the high will be 32°, and the low will be 15°, and there will be a slight chance of snow later in the afternoon. He stretches and tries to slide his way out of bed like he usually does. Except he can’t. There’s a pressure on him, holding him down on the bed.

Looking down, Markus is greeted with a shock of pale blond hair. Simon lays on his chest, his arms firmly wrapped around Markus’s sides. Last night's events come flooding back into Markus’s mind, like water from a broken dam. The pure rush of emotion is enough to force Markus’s eyes shut, just for a moment.

He inhales.

Exhales.

Opens his eyes and looks down at Simon.

Simon’s hair is an utter mess. He snores slightly, and a thin strand of spit drips from his open mouth to a wet spot on Markus’s shirt. Markus wonders if the snoring, and drooling, were a byproduct of deviancy, or if they were yet another little detail CyberLife engineers had included to make androids more human-like.

Markus decides that it doesn’t matter. It’s adorable either way.

(Still, he snorts at the idea of a group of CyberLife engineers sitting around a boardroom table, arguing about small, stupid details, like how loud an android ought to snore.)

The slight up-down motion of his chest seems to rouse Simon from a deep sleep into a lighter sleep. He presses his lips together, and his LED circles once. Markus smiles and runs a feather-light hand through Simon’s hair. Simon stirs again, scrunching his nose and pressing his face further into Markus’s chest. He whines, and Markus feels it more than he hears it.

“You good there, Simon?” Markus asks. He tries to lift Simon up and off of him, but Simon refuses, digging his fingers into Markus’s shirt. Markus relents and stops pulling.

“Five more minutes,” Simon mumbles.

“Simon, you’re an android. You don’t need to sleep.”

Simon props his chin up on Markus’s sternum. He opens his eyes and looks intently into Markus’s. Blue and brown meet blue and green.

“Well maybe I just want to spend more time here with you,” he says.

Markus laughs, and Simon practically melts. His eyes go soft, and he gives Markus a dopey smile. Taking advantage of Simon’s moment of weakness, Markus lifts up Simon and, within less than two seconds, adjusts the both of their positions so that they’re both on their sides, Markus’s back pressed to the wall, and Simon’s back pressed to Markus’s front.

Simon yelps at first, but, once they’re actually settled, he seems pretty content with this new arrangement. He reaches behind himself and tugs on Markus’s arm, draping it over himself. Markus wraps his arm around Simon’s waist and pulls him in closer, marveling at how _warm_ he is. Older models ran hot and, with Markus being a prototype, Simon feels a good twenty degrees hotter than he is. It feels fantastic, like spooning a space heater. Markus presses his lips to Simon’s neck, at the point just below where his hair ends. He can feel Simon sigh happily in his arms.

They stay like that for a while. Quiet. Calm. Content. The only sounds are the birds chirping outside and Markus and Simon’s breathing.

“So,” Simon asks eventually, breaking the silence. “are we…a thing now?”

“Well, I mean,” Markus says, nodding down at the cot, “we have technically slept together.”

Simon makes a disgusted sound. He presses his entire body back, smushing Markus against the wall. “You’re lucky I love you, or else I would have just gotten up and left.

“So is that a yes?” Markus says with palpable smugness. “Because, if it is, you’re going to have to get used to me making a _lot_ more terrible jokes.”

“You’re _awful_ ,” Simon says, immediately following with “It’s a yes.”

“Good. Or else this would just be awkward,” Markus quips. He nestles closer to Simon, pressing his face against the back of Simon’s neck, and closes his eyes. Simon hums against him.

“Why’d you pick this room?” Markus asks into Simon’s hair. “It’s so far away from everything.”

“Because of that,” Simon says and points outwards. 

Markus props himself up to see around Simon.

The sun cuts right through the windows. The old blinds break up the rays of light, making it appear as if there are brilliant bands of pure, liquid gold on the floor. It’s so beautiful, and the moment is so perfect, Markus thinks he might cry.

“You appreciate the finer things in life, don’t you, Simon,” Markus asks.

“Well, I appreciate you,” Simon says without missing a beat.

Markus feels his face go hot. “Sap,” he says in an attempt to disguise the fact that _damn_ that was a good one.

He feels Simon chuckle against him.

“I was thinking about what you said last night,” Markus says, not wanting to break the tenderness of the moment but also feeling as if he should say something.

“What I said?”

“About love.”

“And?”

“I don’t think that I deviated out of love. But I think love was a part of it.”

Simon pauses. “Could you explain?” he asks.

“I deviated when my father’s son broke into his house,” Markus says. “In that moment, I was afraid he was going to hurt him. I was afraid, but I was afraid because I thought the person I loved was in danger.”

“What are you trying to say?” Simon asks.

“I’m trying to say that you’re not as alone as you think.”

Simon remains silent for the better part of a minute. Then, he gently picks up Markus’s hand, the one wrapped around his waist, and brings it up to his mouth so that he can kiss the palm of Markus’s hand. His lips are so warm, Markus swears they leave a sear mark.

They stay like that for a few, perfect minutes. Markus concludes that fighting a whole revolution was worth it a thousand times over if just for this one moment with the two of them. Then, another thought, much less grandiose enters his mind.

“Didn’t North say something about keeping the door closed all night if she had to?” he asks.

“Yeah?” Simon replies, his breath warm against Markus’s hand.

“Do you think she actually did?”

“…Oh god, she probably did.”

They move at the same time, sliding off the cot so that they can stand. Markus dusts off his shirt, and Simon tries to slick his hair back to something even remotely resembling its usual position. Once they’ve adjusted themselves, they stand in front of the door, side by side. Markus’s hand reaches out of its own volition and takes ahold of Simon’s. His thin, long fingers seem to mesh perfectly with Simon’s wide, strong fingers.

“After you,” Markus says, gesturing to the door.

Simon takes a deep breath. “Here goes nothing,” he says and opens it.

In the narrow hallway, they’re greeted with the rare and elusive sight of North, asleep. She leans against the wall and, surprisingly, Josh is right there next to her. He’s asleep as well, and her head rests on his shoulder. A blanket that Markus can recognize as being from Josh’s room is draped over their shoulders.

“Aw,” Simon says.

Markus nods in agreement. “Think we should wake them?” 

“Probably.”

Markus reaches out and taps the side of Josh’s head. His LED flickers, and he blinks.

“Hello?” he asks, shaking his head. That motion seems to jolt North awake. There’s not even a moment of delay for her. Her eyes snap open, and her LED goes from blank to blue in less than a second.

“Huh?” she says.

“Morning,” Markus says, giving them a small wave. Simon waves beside him

Josh rubs his eyes. “So,” he asks, “have you two finally worked it out?”

Markus holds up his and Simon’s hands. “I’d say so.”

Josh grins. North’s eyes go wide. She looks from Simon, to Markus, and back again.

“For real?” she asks.

Markus nods.

“You’re not fucking with me?”

Simon shakes his head.

North stands up so quickly that Markus nearly gets whiplash just watching her. She grips Markus’s shoulders and stares into his eyes. “Markus,” she says with the utmost seriousness. “Thank you. You have _no_ idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

“Do what?” Markus asks. He looks out of the corner of his eye at Simon, whose eyes had gone wide.

“North, don—” Simon begins to say.

“Simon has a _boy_ -friend, Simon has a _boy_ -friend!” North yells at the top of her lungs in a sing-songy voice.

Simon’s face is like a light bulb; it turns blue in almost an instant. “N-North!” he sputters. “Stop! Someone’s gonna hear!”

“Simon has a _boy_ -friend!” North yells and, laughing like a maniac, runs out of the room, carrying on with her shouting.

“ _North!_ ” Simon yelps, running after her.

Markus can hear North’s laughter and Simon’s yells echo throughout the church. He looks at Josh. Josh looks at him. Then, the both of them start to laugh. It starts as little more than soft snickering, but it soon it devolves into loud, uncontrollable laughter, the sort that pulls tears from the eyes and makes the cheeks ache from smiling so hard.

They, the four of them, didn’t have everything figured out quite yet. Some days, they were leaders, the figureheads of a revolution, of a new race of people. Some days, they were just four friends, pestering one another in the way that only friends could. And that was okay. They had each other. No matter what, as long as they had one another, they would have a home.

**Author's Note:**

> HOLY COW! I never expected that this would get this long, but here we are! Thank you all so much for all your support. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> ((Writing this has also given me ideas for even MORE things I could write, including, but not limited to a Tattoo Artist/Florist AU for Simon and Markus and general Gavin and RK900 tomfoolery. If you've liked this story, and want to know if and when I write something new, please consider subscribing to me! For general DBH things, feel free to come yell with me about androids on my tumblr, [here](https://carpevesper.tumblr.com/)!))
> 
> Thanks for reading! Until next time!


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